Recalibration
by Face of Poe
Summary: A young NCO encounters Rogue Squadron's celebrated commander during her shift. He has other ideas for her career.


**A/N: **Reposted from Jedi Council Forums from a couple years ago. One shot that can stand alone just fine, but is also compatible with my AU where Gennevi Lassiter appears in _Reciprocity_.

Enjoy.

**Recalibration**

The under-the-breath cursing was beginning to be something of a nightly habit. At the end of every standard work day, when she came into the pilot training room on the AA flight deck to recalibrate the simulators for the next day's scenario specifications, he was there. Usually staring at a datapad and cursing, but sometimes pacing the room and very occasionally sitting in a simulator and cursing there instead. In those infrequent instances, she went quietly about her work, and then returned after completing the rest of her shift to finish her work on the AA deck.

It was a new assignment, the accompaniment of a recent promotion to sergeant… and the idea of screwing up kept her awake the first few nights, the pressure was so great. Doing precise technical work on simulators was nothing special; but doing precise technical work on _these_ simulators… that was something that both honored and terrified her because it meant that she was indirectly involved with the training of the greatest fighter squadron ever seen in the New Republic.

Rogue Squadron.

The giddiness she felt over simply being in the room used daily by the best pilots in the galaxy was a bit embarrassing, but she wasn't the only one with an unhealthy amount of hero-worship towards the squadron members, both past and current. Besides- she'd been raised to respect snubfighter pilots and the risks they took to serve… well, the Empire, since her father taught recruits on Carida, but her home world of Kuat had long ago changed loyalties to the New Republic and it was with them she worked…

…calibrating training simulators.

Someone had to do it, anyway.

The cursing was a nightly habit but the young sergeant always made sure to stay out of the riled commander's way as she went about her work. Tonight though, her steady routine was interrupted before she even truly began, and with a single word spoken as she opened the hatch to the first machine.

"Stop."

She froze and turned; the commander had not even acknowledged her presence, was still facing away from her and staring at the datapad on the table in front of him, but there was no one else in the room he might be talking to. "I… sir?"

"I'm reworking tomorrow's training program, don't bother."

The silence of the room was awkward and deafening, and she shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

"You can go, Sergeant."

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "When would you like me to come back?"

He finally turned… well, almost. Enough to eye her sideways and make her fully aware of his irritation that she was still there at all. "I said don't bother, Sergeant. I'll handle it."

Her mouth opened and closed twice, before she bit her tongue and headed stiffly to the door. Her hand hovered over the release panel though when he sighed and called out once more. "Do you have any idea how many hours of my life I've spent training in these simulators, Sergeant?"

"Quite a few, I would imagine, sir." She turned and saw him standing by the table, arms crossed, sizing her up.

"That's right. And you're standing there, too polite to ask the question I know is on the tip of your tongue."

"Politeness is nothing to do with it, sir, it would be inappropriate to question a superior officer's knowledge and capabilities above my own."

His look of amused surprise was quickly followed by her mortified blushing. "Well put, Sergeant. Of course, I could probably have you reprimanded for speaking in such a manner."

"But you won't. Sir."

Now he was definitely attempting to smother a laugh. "Why do you suppose that?"

"You're busy enough as is without the extra paperwork."

His bark of laughter helped ease some of her tension, though not the fear for her job that was just beginning to seep in on the edges of her consciousness. "What's your name?"

"Lassiter, sir."

Dark eyes danced in amusement and he took a few measured steps towards her. "Yes," he peered at the nametape on the right breast of her uniform. "I can see that. What's your first name, Sergeant Lassiter."

"Ah… Gennevi."

"Is that Commenori?"

"No, sir."

"Coruscanti?"

"Kuati, sir."

"Would you like to know a secret, Gennevi Lassiter?"

She blinked. "I don't think that would be-"

"I'm terrible at names."

A grin finally quirked her lips. "Yes, sir."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Everyone knows who you are, Commander Darklighter."

Darklighter grinned. "And yet, none of _them_ stand in my own training room and question my capabilities of command."

"Due respect, sir, I did not. I questioned your capabilities at doing _my_ job, which is ensuring that your simulators function properly tomorrow when you're doing _your_ job. If something doesn't work right…"

"Then it falls back on you."

"That's right. I'm new at this, Commander, I'd hate to be the brand new NCO who compromised Rogue Squadron's training."

Pursing his lips and nodding, Darklighter began to pace the room. Lassiter hovered awkwardly, still by the door, awaiting further instructions or another dismissal. Finally, the commander stopped at a B-wing simulator and leaned back against it, peering at her from halfway across the room. "The flaw in your logic is, of course, the assumption that I would not simply tell my pilots that a mistake was _my_ fault, were I to dismiss the sim-tech as I did tonight." She said nothing. "Or perhaps you don't have faith in the honor of your superior officers?" Still, she was quiet- it was not the sort of question you answered honestly, if your honest answer was not the one a superior wanted to hear. "Sergeant Lassiter, do you know who Wedge Antilles is? Tycho Celchu?"

"Sir, I said I was new at this job, not that I was born yesterday."

Laughing, he shook his head and put a hand to his mouth, grinning. "How have you possibly gone this long without getting in trouble for that mouth?"

"The flaw in your logic is the assumption that I haven't."

"Ah." His brows rose curiously, intrigued. "You're that good, then? Your skills override your insubordination?"

She hesitated. "Yes, sir."

"At a job you hate performing."

"Sir?"

"Programming sim routines in the middle of the night- it's beneath you, your skills."

The conversation was quickly spiraling out of control, and Lassiter was beginning to think it was best to just let Darklighter do as he wanted and deal with her CO the next day if there was a problem. "I should move on, I have other…" she gestured futilely at the door and backed up towards it, but the commander held up a hand.

"Stop. Come here," he beckoned her towards the table where his datapad still lay. She approached stiffly and stood with her hands clasped behind her back as he held the device up and showed her the display screen. "Do you know what this is?"

"No."

"Don't lie."

She glared half-heartedly. "It's a training AAR summary for today's sim routines performed in this room."

"And you know this how?"

"Because I wrote it, sir."

He nodded, grimacing. "Your shift is twelve hours long; you come on at eighteen-hundred and begin your work day compiling statistics from your assigned training decks, and writing the summary reports for the commanders- a job that used to entail simple, formulaic interpretation of statistics. 'Rogue Three damage inflicted to sustained ratio, five to two. Rogue Five shooting accuracy, seventy-seven percent.'"

"A computer can give you those facts."

"And they do. But you… you watch the sim runs, don't you? You spend twice the time compiling AARs so you can watch the flight training."

She drew a deep breath and sighed, looking around the room aimlessly, looking anywhere but at the commander's intense and piercing eyes. When he cleared his throat impatiently, she relented and shrugged helplessly. "A computer can only tell you so much, Commander Darklighter. A computer can tell you that Rogue Three routinely sustains more damage than Rogue Eight, but it won't tell you that Rogue Three does so in order to protect Rogue Four, who is the better shot. It won't tell you that Rogue Eight is more concerned with looking good than being a good wingmate to Seven, something that will get one or both of them killed in real battle."

He nodded absently. "You've an interest in flying?"

"I… my father was an Imperial flight instructor. You learn to appreciate more than the numbers."

"Hm," he stroked his goateed chin. "Carida?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know why I sit in here every night, cursing at my datapad?"

"Because you didn't know which sim-tech to strangle instead?"

He laughed again and grinned easily, some of the tension leaving his eyes. "Because it infuriated me that a sim-tech could better identify some of the problems- and strengths- in my squadron than I could. Because…" he looked over her shoulder, staring at nothing, lost in his thoughts. "Because I inherited a legacy from Wedge and Tycho, and I've worried every day since that I'm not upholding it to their high standards. Because we haven't been at war in three years and I constantly fear that, the next time we find ourselves there, we won't be prepared. _None_ of us."

Lassiter was quiet and subdued, and still not entirely sure whether or not she was in trouble.

"I'd like to speak with your CO about changing your duty parameters."

"I-! Commander, if you'd rather I didn't watch the vids, then-"

He held up a hand to forestall her objections. "You're too good for what you're doing, Gennevi. Programming and calibrating simulators _is_ beneath you. You have an aptitude for flight analysis and the fact that no one has recognized this before _astounds_ me, quite frankly."

"But, sir, that only takes a third of my shift, I don't need to change assignments for-"

"And with your extra time," Darklighter interrupted her gently, "I'm going to teach you to fly."

She blinked unsurely. "To… to fly, sir?"

"Yes. We'll start off in B-wings, they're ungainly but slower, and work our way up to the X-wing and A-wing. If you show a particular preference and aptitude, I'm going to personally see to it that you be assigned to the best training squadron available."

"I thought you wanted me doing flight analysis for you?"

"I do," he assured her. "And while I teach you to fly, you're going to teach me to be a better analyst so that I won't need you anymore. Your skills will be invaluable to me; but at the head of your own squadron one day, you'll revolutionize the world of Starfighter Command."

Part of her was sure that this wasn't really happening; that Gavin Darklighter, hero of Rogue Squadron, was not planning her future, and an impressive one at that. But she couldn't deny that it sounded… thrilling. Terrifying, but thrilling. "I… yes, sir. Thank you."

"I'll speak with your CO tomorrow."

"O…okay." She backed towards the door, hoping to make it outside before the giddy smile that was welling up inside of her became plastered to her face.

Darklighter frowned. "Where are you going? We have work to do."

"I, ah…" she pointed over her shoulder. "I have work to do. While I'm still a sim-tech." And unable to help herself, she grinned cheekily. "Want to come watch and learn how it's done?"

"You're trouble," he chuckled. "And no, I'll just embarrass myself. Go then. We'll start tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

With that, she turned and made for the door. It was just sliding shut behind her when she glanced over her shoulder and saw Darklighter already hunched over the table again, perusing his datapad. And moments before it hissed closed, she heard him cursing under his breath at the empty room.

Sergeant Gennevi Lassiter grinned, and kept walking.


End file.
